


Love/Hate Relationship... Minus The Love

by Saoirse_Laochra



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Family, Clint's sort of an ass, Gen, Language, So is Bucky, recovering bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 02:26:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10295438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saoirse_Laochra/pseuds/Saoirse_Laochra
Summary: Clint's never really had good self-preservation instincts.And c'mon... Did the others really expect him to change, just because Barnes was a super-soldier, ex-assassin who could snap his neck without any effort?





	

Clint hated the Winter Soldier. Or James, or Bucky, or Barnes, or whatever the fuck everyone wanted to call him.

Oh sure, he’d just shrugged, and said it didn’t matter when Steve talked about moving him into Avengers’ Tower. What difference did it make to him, right? He was either in the basement practice range, or crawling through the vents; he’d have minimal interaction with Steve’s long-lost best buddy.

But apparently, somebody forget to tell the brainwashed, super-soldier, ex-assassin, ex-war hero ad nauseam -emphasis on _nausea_ -that the dick shared the Tower with other people. Other _vent_ _climbing_ people.

 

* * *

 

Clint glanced down through the grate, eyes taking in the scene before him with only a _small_ eyeroll. Steve and Barnes, leaning forward in their seats, elbows on their knees, enthralled with the large-screen television. Which was playing one of the many Fast and Furious movies.

Clint was half-tempted to keep moving. He’d never been big on flashy car movies, but he hadn’t had breakfast -or lunch -and damned if that popcorn didn’t smell freaking amazing. Steve had bought an honest-to-God popcorn machine like at the movies, and -like Clint -Steve had a penchant for drowning his popcorn in real butter. So after a few minutes, he decided to join the party.

“Incoming,” He called lightly, getting ready to pop the grate, and climb through. But his happiness at the thought of popcorn quickly turned, as a cloud of bullets began raining through the vent. “Shit, woah, woah, Steve, it’s me, fuck, _fuck_ , _fuck_ , Steve!”

“Bucky, stop! Stop, it’s a _friend_ , Buck. It’s Clint, you remember Clint? The bow guy?”

Dimly, like through a fog, Clint can hear Bucky panting, and he had the fleeting thought that _yeah, that’d been a pretty boneheaded move, sneaking up on the definition of PTSD and yelling incoming_ , and… shit, he feels wet.

“Steve?” He called out, ignoring how weak his voice sounded. “I uh… Think I need some help up here?”

“Stand down, Buck!” Instantly, Steve’s voice goes from desperate and caring, to all business, sharp, a man used to giving orders, and having those orders obeyed without question. It’s an effective tactic, one Clint had used several times himself, in those situations when _things are spiraling out of control, and you need people who wouldn’t normally listen to you to listen to you, and…_

“Oh, dammit.”

Steve’s voice dropped a few tones, very quiet, and Clint blinked up at him.

“Shit, it’s gotta be bad if you’re cussing,” He said, as he tried to maneuver himself around to where Steve could get a good grip on him.

“Nah. You’re gonna be fine. Uh, Jarvis?”

“I’ve already alerted Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner to prepare the medical bay. They’re awaiting you now.”

“Med bay, huh?” Clint grunted, trying to keep his yelp as quiet as possible as Steve pulled him out of the vent, and down onto the couch. He glared around, eyes quickly focusing on Barnes, standing in the corner, arms folded across his chest, _shifty-murder-hobo_ lurking in the corner. “You fucking _shot_ me, asshole.”

If anything, Barnes face grew harder. “You were crawling around in _vents_. Above our _apartment_. You fucking yelled _incoming_. At two WWII vets. And _I’m_ the asshole?”

“Well, yeah. I do it all the time, and nobody else has ever fucking _shot_ me,” Clint said incredulously as Steve pulled him up, draping one arm around his neck. “Which makes _you_ an asshole.”

“Yeah, well, maybe now you’ll learn some fuckin’ manners.”

“Buck,” Steve said, his voice admonishing, staring back over his shoulder.

“What? Bad manners, don’t care what century you’re in.”

“It’s also bad manners to shoot your friends, Bucky,” Steve said, before sighing. “Just help me get him to medical, huh?”

 

* * *

 

Clint’s night had ended with Dr. Hulk pulling five bullets out of him -two in his thigh, one from his hip, and two from his shoulder. Steve stayed with him the whole time, apologizing, until Bruce had finally shooed him out, saying that Clint needed rest.

Barnes had come in, shortly after Steve left, and _creepy pervert_ lurked in the corner for a few minutes, before walking into Clint’s line of sight.

“Stay out of my ceiling.”

Yeah, he definitely hated _James Buchanan Bucky Winter Soldier Barnes_.

 

* * *

 

“Ten bucks says I can out-shoot you.”

Their second encounter doesn’t go much better. Clint was in his practice range - _his, dammit, nobody else ever uses the damn thing, they all use the gym, not the range_ -when he sensed the movement behind him. Knowing nobody else would sneak up on him -not even Nat, not since the Loki incident -he’d decided to thoroughly ignore Barnes.

“What kind of pretentious Squanto wanna-be uses a fuckin’ bow?”

Still, he ignored him. Breathe in. Line up. Breathe out. Release. Three arrows fly from the bow, and three arrows strike the target.

“You’d be dead in three seconds in a real fight.”

Finally, Clint turned to face him. And very slowly… very deliberately… Took out his hearing aids. At Barnes’ slightly raised eyebrow -which would probably be a gasp of shock on anyone else -Clint grinned, giving him a thumbs up, before returning to his shooting.

He could feel the slight breeze when Barnes opened the door, and without turning or looking, he called out, “Enjoy your day, Snow Angel.”

 

* * *

 

It’d been a long, bad night, and all Clint wanted was a cup of fucking coffee. He’d tried to turn on the deluxe, French-sounding coffee pot Tony had installed in his room, only to realize he was out of _fucking_ _coffee_ , driving him to the mid-level communal kitchen everyone shared.

He hadn’t been able help his groan as he entered, seeing Steve, Nat, Bruce, and fucking Barnes standing around the kitchen, talking quietly.

“Don’t mind me,” Clint said, as they all stopped to look over at him. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, don’t care what you’re talking about, don’t want to know. Just want coffee.”

He’d ignored Nat’s smirk, and Bruce’s chuckle, and Steve’s eyeroll, marching past them in his Scooby-Doo pajama bottoms, around the table, only to pull up short, glaring up at Barnes.

“Coffee,” He bit out, giving Barnes his best ‘get of my way before I kill you’ look.

Barnes simply quirked one eyebrow at him, arms folded across his chest, completely unfazed.

“You’re in front of the coffee pot, asshole. You know, in some societies, standing between a man and his coffee gets you an arrow in the eyeball.”

Barnes snorted, still not moving. “I’d like to see you try, Bird Boy.”

“Bucky.” Steve’s voice is full of warning, and caution.

Clint pulled himself up to his full height, ignoring the fact that Barnes still had a good six inches on him, and going… well, nose-to-chest with the man.

“Move. Or I’m going to stick an arrow straight up your nose, and scramble your brain again.”

He heard the collective gasp go through the room, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Steve rear back.

But Barnes just gave him a cold smile, holding his stance for a few more seconds before moving to the side.

“Oh… You’ll have to make a fresh pot. I drank the last of it.”

 

* * *

 

Clint still crawled around the vents. Because _fuck Barnes, that’s why_.

He was a lot quieter about it though.

And that’s how he overheard Steve and Barnes talking. Not because he was making it a point to spy on them. No sir.

“Why do you keep antagonizing Clint?”

He paused when he heard Steve say his name. He had to admit, he was a bit curious himself. It seemed like Barnes was going out of his way to track him down, and give him shit.

“Buck? C’mon, Bucky, talk to me.”

Clint was almost ready to move on; figured Barnes was going to pull his silent assassin routine, and not answer. He’d only gone half a foot, when he heard Barnes speak.

“He’s the only one who gives me shit back.”

“What?”

Clint echoed the sentiment, if not the words.

“He doesn’t treat me like I’m an animal that will snap and attack if you look at me wrong. He treats me like he treats everybody else. He jerks my chain like he jerks everybody’s. The only one who doesn’t walk on eggshells, picking every damn word.”

Clint chewed on his bottom lip for a  second, before swiftly moving forward, through Steve slash Barnes’ rooms, and over into Bruce’s.

Barnes wanted his chain jerked?

Clint could do that.

He’d never had very good self-preservation instincts, afterall.


End file.
